


Erythema Solare

by QueenNeehola



Category: Karneval
Genre: Day At The Beach, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-05
Updated: 2014-09-05
Packaged: 2018-02-16 06:45:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2259861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenNeehola/pseuds/QueenNeehola
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There’s sand between his toes, stuck to his hair, and in other places it <i>really</i> shouldn’t be.  Sea salt has dried out his lips, stung his eyes, and left a bitter taste on his tongue.  And this is before he’s even <i>mentioned</i> the fiery, hot sunburn making every inch of his exposed skin glow and throb.  He’s going to have tan lines where no respectable thirty-something doctor should ever have tan lines.<br/>Really, Akari thinks his day can’t get much worse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Erythema Solare

**Author's Note:**

> because chapter 83 is a beach chapter and they all should have gone together AND THIS SHOULD HAVE HAPPENED and i'm so deprived of hirakari.

There’s sand between his toes, stuck to his hair, and in other places it _really_ shouldn’t be.  Sea salt has dried out his lips, stung his eyes, and left a bitter taste on his tongue.  And this is before he’s even _mentioned_ the fiery, hot sunburn making every inch of his exposed skin glow and throb.  He’s going to have tan lines where no respectable thirty-something doctor should ever have tan lines.

Really, Akari thinks his day can’t get much worse.

 

He’s proven wrong mere seconds later, when Hirato sidles into view.  The captain’s hair is pleasantly tousled from the sea breeze, and the parasol casts a blanket of shade over his sun-kissed skin—honestly, he tans so _easily_ it’s _infuriating_.

Hirato smiles and Akari scowls: a practised response, and one that Hirato has come to expect.

“I don’t need you checking up on me,” Akari grumbles as Hirato settles on the beach towel next to him.

“I’m just dropping off a delivery,” Hirato replies, his smile never shifting an inch as he passes a small tub into Akari’s palm.  The tub is unmarked, housing a pale green concoction, and it’s only when Akari quirks a pink eyebrow that Hirato explains.  “For your sunburn.  Handmade by Jiki – you should be sure to thank him.”

Akari agrees through gritted teeth as he unscrews the cap and slaps some of the lotion on.  He winces – it’s cold – but soon relaxes as he feels whatever is in the mixture start to take some of the painful heat out of his skin.

 

He applies it to his arms, shoulders, chest, stomach, legs; all the while feeling Hirato’s eyes burning silently into him, hotter than any sunburn.  He ignores it – determined not to play into the captain’s hands and let the usual smug smirk spread across Hirato’s lips – and keeps himself focused on the task at hand.  As he finishes, wiping his hands on the towel he sits on, Hirato speaks up again.

“What about your back?”  His voice is soft and low and honeyed, and if Akari wasn’t already entirely cerise from the sun he’d have felt the heated blush cross his face at the very obvious suggestion lacing the captain’s words.

He tries to think of a comeback; fails; stays silent and embarrassed instead.  He doesn’t need to look at Hirato, who scoops some of the lotion out with slender fingers, to know the expression he’s wearing.  He can picture the mischievous sparkle in his eye, the cheeky quirk of his lips, with photographic perfection.

 

Akari’s back arches away from the chill of the lotion and the touch of fingers against his raw skin: he can put that down to reflex, but the faint yelp that escapes him is another story entirely.  He flushes, horrified, but if Hirato reacts he doesn’t sense it, and now that the younger man is seated behind him he’s unable to read any change in his expression either.  Anxiety begins to twist his stomach, but he forces his muscles to relax – the last thing he needs is Hirato commenting on _how tense you are, Akari-san; shall I rub your shoulders for you?_

 

It’s only after a solid twenty seconds of Akari staring indomitably at the shining ocean, and Hirato patiently working the cream into his reddened skin, that Akari realises nothing untoward has happened.  Hirato hasn’t even uttered a single word—it’s almost worrying.

But of course it doesn’t last.

 

Hirato’s hands, working carefully, sweep down Akari’s sides to the waistband of his shorts.  The captain’s fingers creep around to Akari’s stomach, pressing softly, while his thumbs trail parallel lines down Akari’s skin.

“Hey,” Akari growls: a warning.  People are around.  “Keep your hands where they’re supposed to be.”

A small puff of air – a silent chuckle – hits the back of Akari’s neck and he bristles, feeling goosebumps break out despite the heat in his skin.  “I’m merely ensuring that every inch of your sunburn is treated, Akari-san,” Hirato replies, and Akari hates the way Hirato uses his name like a punctuation mark.  “I know it must hurt.  Although one would think a doctor, of _all_ people, would know best the dangers of not wearing adequate sun cream.”

“Shut up.”  Akari can’t think of a better response with the way Hirato’s fingertips are dancing dangerously around his hips, teasing promises of _later, when we’re alone, behind closed doors_.

 

But just like that they’re gone again, leaving nothing but the cool breeze on Akari’s scorched skin, and then Hirato is in his line of sight again, wiping excess lotion on his own arms and looking entirely unruffled.  Akari’s skin prickles where Hirato had touched, and if he pretends hard enough maybe he can just chalk it up to his sunburn.

 

Hirato looks at him, oddly serious, and Akari instinctively looks away towards the sea once more.  Tsukitachi is standing in the shallows, holding an inflatable beach ball with everyone else gathered around him, apparently explaining the rules of whatever game he’s about to start up.

“Akari-san.”

Reflexively, Akari turns at the sound of his name, and is met with Hirato’s lips capturing his in a kiss.  It doesn’t last long enough for him to react, and all Akari has time to process before Hirato pulls away is the captain’s tongue licking across his chapped lips.

By the time Akari’s eyes come into focus again, Hirato is somehow a metre away, out of the reach of any ramifications in the form of physical injury.  The sly bastard.

“You need to keep your lips moist in the sun, too,” is all he says before he turns his back and leaves, a content smile playing about his face as he invites himself into Tsukitachi and the others’ beach volleyball game.

Akari blames his sunburn for the sudden heat in his cheeks.


End file.
